Because everything about this first African World Cup is beautifully brand-new, I want a Holland v Spain final on Sunday. Yes, that way we’ll be assured of a new winner of the world’s most desirable football trophy.

Removing three-times winners Germany from the equation is just a bonus. But, first, Spain need to do the business under the soaring arch of Durban’s glorious Moses Mabhida Stadium tonight. And they will need their ace ball-distributor Xavi Hernandez to be at his very best to ensure that David Villa and Fernando Torres get to bang the ball in the old onion bag.

Let’s hope Xavi will be more on song with the ball than he is with the vuvuzela. Not that his sumptuous lifestyle at his ridiculously luxurious villa at home – and the repayments on his tennis court-sized Jacuzzi – will be threatened by his inability to blow the vuvu. But please put on your granny’s corset – to stop your sides from splitting – and check this out…

Heavens to dear old Anabella, that’s even worse than I blow it. Purse your lips, Xavi, and put them inside the mouth of El Trumpeto, amigo!

Here, let a little South African girl show you how it’s done…

There. How was that? Sweet, hey? Got it? What? Lips inside the vuvu, bru! Nort, man. If you’re going to win the World Cup here in South Africa, you must practise your parping, my china. We need you to give old Sepp Blatter a lekker blast in his earhole when you go to accept your medal!

My dear Hatpeople, may I have the privilege of introducing you to writer Helen Walne. I am even more of a fan of Helen’s left-field writing style than I am of Simphiwe Tshabalala’s left-wing artistry. And that’s saying a lot. Here, in a guest post for fredhatman.co.za, Helen insists that, regardless of how beautiful our World Cup might become, she is to remain unmoved. Please stop blowing your vuvuzelas for a minute and enjoy this…

Two weeks into this World Cup and I am proud to announce that I haven’t fallen for it. Amid the vuvuzelas, the soccer pizzas, the side-mirror willy warmers and the flags, I have remained as unmoved as a parliamentarian with a mandatory gym contract, as a 4X4 enthusiast at an instant lawn demonstration or as Posh Spice at a laughing yoga convention. You get the picture.

Indeed, being unaffected by hype has always been one of my more admirable qualities. When everyone at school huddled on the steps watching their slinkies coil and uncoil their way down to the bottom field, I bit into my egg sandwich and admired my collection of eucalyptus leaves. When the other kids dashed into a flutter of flying ants, squealing and chewing, declaring that they tasted like peanut butter, I went inside and drew pictures of dwarves. And when Knight Rider came to the Southgate Shopping Centre to sign autographs next to the Biltong Den, I refused to go.

So when it comes to resisting a silly ball game, it’s a piece of cake. Besides, I haven’t been interested in soccer since Dean de Beer played goalie for the under-15 Maritzburg Lions. He wasn’t the sparkiest boy on the bus, but he had a nice mole on his cheek. Anyway, according to the wisdom of Colour Me Beautiful, I’m a summer and look bad in yellow – like a jaundiced custard slice, or Homer Simpson after too much vindaloo. And I refuse to be brainwashed by advertising.

Besides tampons, cable ties and haemorroid cream, I don’t think there’s a single item that hasn’t been given a World Cup spin. From crisps and koejawels to soap and sosaties, the advertising Beelzebubs have positively dived, sprung, vaulted and jumped on the bandwagon. Last week, even our work canteen was flogging a Wayne Rooney chicken-something, and I’m almost sure our local tearoom is selling Bafana nasal sprays.

And I wouldn’t be surprised if, over the course of the past year, we haven’t been subjected to subliminal World Cup advertising. Maybe that nice couple with the Bible who came round last week were actually secret soccer agents, burning messages into my brain with their eyes: Thou shalt wear yellow. Thou shalt paarp those plastic trumpets. Thou shalt bow down before the beautiful game. And perhaps the bitterness of the soup I ate last night was not due to a batch of dodgy lentils, but a clutch of evil Fifafia pellets designed to turn me into a polyester-wearing freak. And right now, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to believe that with every flap of their wings, the clutch of hadedas clattering overhead is disseminating subliminal pay-off lines: You will support Bafana. You will develop an interest in hamstring injuries. You will learn the names of all the players.

Pity they’re wasting their time over my house. I’m as immune as a turnip, as a Cape Town waitress is to the outside section of a restaurant or as a taxi driver is to solid lines. You get the picture.

"I have resisted the drama of the World Cup and continue to take the Drogbas for a walk in the park"

Nay, my dear readers, while the rest of the country are waving flags and swopping vuvu viruses, for me it is business as usual. Untouched by the hype, resilient to all forms of brainwashing, I will continue to go about my days with the composure of a Cumbrian tobacconist. I will take the Drogbas for walks in the neighbourhood, ignoring Joey’s penchant for peeing against every Lampard he can find. I might try my hand at baking again: rock buns, Bafana bread, scones and chocolate Rooneys.

On weekends, I will not be at the Beckham call of big-screen games and badly dressed commentators Blattering on about balls and bicycle kicks. Instead, I will go for Fabio walks in the forest, and later perhaps will throw some Coles on the braai and tuck into hunks of free-range Lahm.

At night, I will not be hanging with the Pepes at fan parks, throwing precious Silva at the bar for warm American beer in unmarked packaging. Instead, I will make myself a nice cup of warm Kaka, put on some soothing Capello, snuggle up in my Thierry cloth robe and dive into a good book. And on the days when our team takes to the field, I will take advantage of the empty shopping malls, cruising electronic shops for all manner of Dudas and claiming a Booth with ocean views for a spot of sushi and a glass of French Pienaar.

See, my little soccer suckers, how easy it is to escape being plunged into a Dunga of football delirium? Witness how simple it is to avoid going Gaxa over a silly game? Say thank you and Siyabonga for presenting an alternative way to surviving the next 30-odd days. It’s as simple as a tackle on a wounded midfielder, as a pass right in front of goals or as a header into the top left-hand corner. You get the picture.

Mmmmm, I don’t feel very well. I think I’m coming down with something. Something yellow and weirdly contagious. And since our Bafana boys bowed out so bravely against the French the other night, my condition is only deteriorating.

Viva, Bafana, Viva!

* This article, one of Helen Walne’s excellent series of Human League columns, was first published in the Cape Argus. Helen’s writing has been published all over the show and she is currently writing her first book.

2. Uncle Sepp needs to lighten up a bit. Yoga, meditation or a sound smack around the ear might help. I don’t recall people being arrested for wearing the wrong colour clothing under South Africa’s apartheid regime.

Look. I can’t confirm that these honeys in the pic below are actually the ones who were busted but it is safe to assume that they are a reasonable facsimile thereof (apologies for poor quality but this was clearly snapped on a cellphone)…

If these ne'er-do-wells represent the most terrifying threat to our World Cup, then I'm volunteering to deal with it.

OK. While I try to pin down Mr Blatter’s phone number to warmly congratulate him on keeping us all safe from The Orange Threat, why don’t you get all the facts of the story right here at Goal.com?

After falling out of bed at Hatman Mansions at 5.45am in our sleepy village of Stanford this morning I stood – as is my habit – on The Blogorandah (my verandah), sipping last night’s cold tea, took a lungful of Marlboro and called for that bloody cat which does little else than stare at me.

But, even before Teapot had had a chance to issue forth its first miaow of the day, the haunting sound of a far-off vuvuzela caressed my ears. Yes, I said “caressed”, not “assailed”. For I am truly “SA-positive”, remember?

This lone vuvu wailed from the direction of Die Skema, the place on a hill above Stanford where the coloured Stanfordians mostly live. This vuvu-parper was getting his lungs warmed up for the midday call for South Africans to parp their support for our beautiful World Cup, now merely a matter of a couple of thousand minutes away. Can you feel it? Can your hear it? I could… from one of the creases inside the very distant Overberg!

But nothing prepared me for the outbreak of vuvu fever which resounded around our country today. This was reflected on the social media networks, where the hashtag word “vuvuzela” became a worldwide trending topic on Twitter and Facebook was awash with updates expressing joyous surprise at the level to which World Cup ecstasy was taken.

Let’s take a gander at what that looked like… and then I’ll throw in a video of Cape Town’s Long Street in vuvuzelic eruption for you to enjoy!

Twitter went vuvulistic, sending the word "vuvuzela" into the Top 10 trending topics worldwide! Paaaarp!

Facebook had a "feel-it" day with my fb friends spilling out of their skin to tell the world that South Africa was officially the noisiest country on the planet today!

How was that? Er, no, sorry, there is no known cure for “yellowshirt fever”… so let’s all just die happy! Even Julius Malema, the chastised and somewhat chastened leader of the ANC Youth League, tweeted out his support for Bafana Bafana and urged the country to unite in blowing their vuvuzelas for this World Cup. How do I know this? Well, JuJu and I, er, follow each other on Twitter, don’t we?

Want proof?

There you go... JuJu sings his "Kiss the Vuvuzela" song to the nation. And who, might I ask, would argue with such sound logic?

How cool is that? Amazing how Julius has calmed down since Sepp Blatter, Godfather of the Fifafia, became South Africa’s Public Enemy No 1, hey? Still, Jules, if you’re reading this – and I know you do – give me a shout anytime you want to send out another of your press releases to the good people of South Africa.

But I digress. Here’s that video I promised you. Sent over by my totally rad mates at CapeTownAlive! and filmed with the help of supercool video-sharing website Zoopy…

Nice. Now that’s what I call a country on the verge of giving the planet its craziest, most beautiful, friendliest, most human-spirited World Cup yet. How does that make you feel in your tummy? Warm and fuzzy, hey? Yes. I’m happy. Because, as your only “medically diagnosed SA-positive” blogger, that’s what I am on this earth to do… rub your tummies until they feel so warm and fuzzy. Ayoba!

* I have joined the London Guardian’s World Cup Fans Network for the duration of the World Cup football finals. It is a phenomenal concept, one which uses Twitter to bring the voices (or tweets) of fans of all 32 competing countries together on one forum for the tournament. If you would like to see what I’m saying about Bafana Bafana and the impact on South Africa of the biggest sporting event to ever be staged in our beloved country, follow my tweets by following me on Twitter! If Facebook is more your social media thang, go to my Facebook profile and request to be a friend or simply join the \”Fred Hatman\” group for updates on my latest blogposts… which are not only about the World Cup!

All those “SA-positives” who visit here know that I love a good vuvuzela, the cultural weapon of choice for hardcore Bafana Bafana supporters.

In fact, I was horrified to learn that some do-gooder has banned the use of our vuvus on aeroplane flights around South Africa during our most phenomenal of all World Cups, now just a mere 360 or so hours away.

Quelle horreur!Eish. Or as we in paradisical Stanford are inclined on occasion to exclaim, “Good golly!” This Fifa-ass-kissing decision flies in the beautiful face of the spirit of South Africa’s World Cup. How are we to create a suitably raucous atmosphere around the World Cup finals if we are banned from parping our vuvus on planes?

What, because Mrs Carruthers-Smythe sitting in first-class might beckon a trolley dolly to her aid and mutter, “I say, my dear, would you mind terribly if I ask that those ne’er-do-wells at the back be ordered in no uncertain terms to tone it down a bit?” I say “Phooey, tell Mrs C-S not to be such a spoilsport, is it asking too much that she tolerate a little extra turbulence for just five weeks?”

No, it seems that South Africa’s fuddy-duddies and Spanish midfielder and Liverpool reject Xabi Alonso, who made a big stink about vuvuzelas when he played in the Confed Cup here last year, are to be indulged by our kindly Uncle Sepp (Blatter). I don’t know what the World Cup is coming to, if you ask me (but nobody does).

Never mind, it’s good to know that Hyundai, who are an official sponsor of Uncle Sepp’s Rather Exclusive African Party of the Year (otherwise known as the Fifa World Cup) and maker of rather crap cars, have shown their support of our beautiful vuvuzela with a bright-spark marketing ploy in Cape Town. Check this out…

Please Hyundai, won't you let me have a parp on that?!

Lekker, hey? I’ll be quite embarrassed to show my vuvu in public after seeing that! Call it vuvu envy if you like. And you do like, don’t you? Yes, you do. Admit it! And sticking that humungous vuvuzela right there holds an extra bonus in that it might stop a few German supporters taking a wrong turn after a heavy night down the Fireman’s Arms and plummeting off the edge of The Unfinished Freeway. Actually, come to think… oh, never mind.

You laugh?! There are many stories Capetonians will recall, if you buy them a Mojito, of friends who nearly did just that. But that was before the Traffic Department woke up to the danger of not completing a freeway… and then forgetting to let people know that, no, that road wouldn’t take them to Green Point but rather to the morgue.

OK. So we’re all getting a tad excited about tonight’s draw to see which country’s teams will be playing where.

Even Capetonians are shedding their usual hoity-toityness and warming slightly to the idea that The Big Draw is happening right there in their own city, at their International Convention Centre, at 7pm (SA time).

Before we celebrate this fact with some song, dance and, of course, some Durban-style vuvu-blowing, let’s have a butchers at those countries who have made it into the draw:

Right. There it is. So which nations (or, rather, their fans) do we want playing here in my home city of Durban? Which countries most deserve to be blessed by the unparalleled beauty (anywhere) of our Moses Mabhida Stadium. Well, if it were left to me – and I cannot honestly understand why Fifa haven’t left it entirely to me to choose – the four countries to play their group games here would be (cue very loud parp of a million vuvus): Netherlands (due entirely to the video I’m about to show you); Australia (so we can tease them rotten about their rubbish rugby team); Cameroun (because they dance so beautifully to the very cool indigenous tunes their musicians produce and will bring another stunning African vibe to our city); and Portugal (so we can jeer Cristiano Ronaldo for being such a ponce when he played for Manchester United).

OK, so picking the Netherlands ahead of Brazil means that I won’t get to party with their unbelievable fans in the way I so memorably did (it was completely sexual, my babies) after Brazil played Scotland in Turin during the 1990 World Cup in Italy but I based my decision solely on the evidence in this little vid…

Hellness, I enjoyed that. That I want to see a lot of in the stands at Moses Mabhida after June 11 next year. The Dutch always add value (and a big splash of orange) to a World Cup. And I like the way they’ve embraced our vuvuzela instead of rejecting it as too painful to sensitive ears – as did the snivelling Japanese and (it pains me to say) that former Liverpool player Xabi Alonso, who will be wearing specially-made earplugs the entire time he mooches around our country while complaining about our vuvus.

So Cape Town are welcome to host wussy Spain and Japan. We’ll have the vuvu-loving Dutch and, anyway, there’s a lot of blue in the stands at Moses Mabhida and the colour co-ordination will work much better with the orange well bumped up. And, did I mention that I have a massive erogenous zone for tall blonde women. I didn’t? How negligent of me.

Moving swiftly on. OK. I accept that Mr Sepp Blatter, and not me, has the final say on all things World Cup and tonight his minions will pull balls out of pots and announce who is to play where. We wait with bated breath and the champers well chilled. I’ll be thumping out some words about this momentous event right here on your “Diagnosed SA-positive” blog the minute all the excitement is over. Please join me for a tongue-in-cheek summary of which lucky fans get to party big-time with we Durbanites next June… right here on your fave blog at about 9pm tonight. Check you later, Hatpeople!

Viva Vuvu! I got my first taste of a crowd vibe at Durban’s uber-glorious Moses Mabhida Stadium at yesterday’s opening match and I was totally blown away.

Blown away by the sheer beauty of being in the shiny-new stadium along with about 22,000 fans… and blown away by about half of them blowing their vuvuzelas like their granny’s life depended on it.

If this is what the atmosphere is like with not even half of the full house that will grace the World Cup 2010 matches, then I’m going to ask to be allowed to flog earplugs outside the ground for our foreign fans unused to the ear-splitting explosion of exuberance that is so part of the South African football experience.

Look. I love football. I love Durban. I love our World Cup 2010 stadium. And I love the pure joy for the beautiful game expressed through a vuvu by our fans. So this post is a celebration of all those. I have got a nit or two to pick with the service offered yesterday… but I’ll set those out later for the authorities to note.

Before I illustrate “The Beautiful Noise”, let us kick off on a quiet note. Looky here…

This little chap turned up with Dad's red vuvu and also clutching a mini version which was being blown lustily by the little people yesterday. With a whole new generation being tutored in the, er, art of one note being performed very loudly and for long periods of time, methinks the vuvu ain't going to be easily banned by Fifa. Sorrrrry for yoooo, Mr Blatter! All pics: Hatman

And these mamas lifted their spirits in the rain by sharing around a vuvu which was parped with mucho enthusiasmness. Nice one, ladies!

This little guy was sat behind me and what he lacked in vuvu verve was overwhelmed (as was I) by his capacity to give it large lungfuls without stopping for breath...

Ooh, what have we here? What we have is a Kaizer Chiefs fan who, despite his team not playing, came along anyway to give his new-fangled and rather more genteel "kuduzela" an airing...

OK. Let’s bring down the decibels a tad. Here’s my summary of how debut day went down at the MMS (Moses Mabhida Stadium). All staff on duty at the stadium were efficient, courteous and very friendly – as you would expect of South Africans – but I have a couple of gripes. Not because I’m the archetypal “Disgruntled of Umdloti” but because, dear People In Charge, if you’re going to have a world-class stadium to show off to the world, then everything about it should be world-class.

Why, then, don’t all the refreshment bars serve all the same food and drinks? Why did I go to one to order coffee to be told that’s it’s only available at the next one? Never mind that I get to “the next one” to be told that there’s no milk. “Not a good start,” I pointed out to the assistant. “Do you think you’ll have milk in time for the World Cup?” She went off and came back with “We’ve only got cold milk, not hot milk.” “Cold milk will be very cool,” I replied. “Could I have a hotdog,” I asked. “No, hotdogs are at the next shop,” she said. I went off in search of the next shop and found en route that my coffee was, in fact, black.”

Now, listen up All Ye In Charge. South Africans are easy come, easy go and pretty much accept what comes their way. Not so many of the foreign fans who will be asking for milk in their coffee and a hotdog to go with it come June 2010. When I finally bought a hotdog it was cold. Please know that in the United States and Germany, they have large government departments dedicated to The Temperature Control of Hotdogs Sold At Football Stadiums. Teams of little men in white coats stick thermometers into hotdogs and anything warmed up to less than 32 deg C leads to shop assistant’s heads being used as spare footballs. OK. Exaggeration overload. But big room for improvement, guys!

Now, let’s wind down with a fun game. The following photograph shows an AmaZulu player swinging a freekick over towards the Maritzburg United goalmouth. But where’s the ball? Ja, this is just like those old “Spot-the-Ball” competitions the newspapers used to run. It took me 37 seconds to find it. Can you beat that? If you can, mail me using the “Contact button on this page” and tell me where the ball is. The person who gets it in the fastest time (use the honesty box for this, please!) wins, er, wins… let me see… OK, they win my vuvuzela!

Coolness. Here you go…

Can you spot that ball? Not that easy, huh? No. Best you be putting on your specs, uncle. Or ask your daughter to help you! Good luck!

I enjoyed that. Ending this off with a little teaser. Oh, in case you missed it, local favourites AmaZulu were beaten 1-0 by Maritzburg United after Byron Hendricks scrambled the ball over the line to score the first goal ever at the Moses Mabhida Stadium. He then kissed the lush green turf to signal this feat but I think we’ll be seeing a truckload of far better goals next June and July. I cannot wait.

* An overhead scissors-doff of the red hat to Karen Lotter of ethekwiniweb.co.za for sorting me out with tickets. Paaaarrrrp!

News has reached Hatman Mansions that Japan’s football hierarchy is pleading with the South African Football Association to ban the use of vuvuzelas for World Cup 2010.

“We have requested that the South African FA cut that noise out,” Japan Football Association (JFA) president Motoaki Inukai was quoted as saying in Tuesday’s edition (today) of the Sankei Sports newspaper. “You can’t hear yourself speak. I will be bringing it up with Fifa president Sepp Blatter,” Inukai added, after Japan’s 0-0 draw with South Africa at the new Nelson Mandela Bay stadium in Port Elizabeth.

Ag, shame. They can’t hear themselves speak. Noonoos. Well, Mr Inukai, I will put my vuvuzela away long enough for you and your nation, from the man in the street right down to the Prime Minister, to hear this…

“Stop this…

Pic: Koichi Kamoshida/Getty Images

… and we in South Africa might just think about holding talks about possibly scheduling negotiations with you to stop this…”

But I’m not promising anything. I’m referring to the vuvuzela you see in the foreground of the picture, not the football fans. Unless you’re wanting to ban them too? Ban the vuvu, Japan, and you might as well ban the man blowing it. Because the two go together here in our country, South Africa. And have been going together for a long time now. A bit like you and sushi. Or, dare I say it, and I do, you and the senseless massacre of whales.

Go forth unto your government, Mr Inukai, and sort out the whale hunting thing and then we might listen to you about our vuvuzelas. If we can hear what you have to say, and you can hear yourself think, with a dozen vuvus parping in your face.

I apologise if I have been a little rude, Mr Inukai. But I, a medically “diagnosed SA-positive” South African, am getting a tad pissed off with foreigners telling us not to celebrate our beautiful game with our beautiful noise. A little exuberance at a football match never hurt anybody. But what would Japan know about exuberance, hey? Unless that’s the vibe you get from slaughtering the natural world’s biggest beasts.

My dearest “SA-positive” Hatpeople. It pains me to report that there are those among us who are insisting that the vuvuzela, the South African ‘People’s Choice’ of passion-blowing instrument at local football matches, be dead and buried by the time that nice Mr Blatter brings us our 2010 World Cup finals.

Nobody is more excited than me about WC2010. But why does South Africa have to roll over, have our collective tummy tickled and accept a European-oriented Fifa ruling that our vuvu, which has been blown with fanatical gusto at PSL soccer matches for years, be out-schmarketed at our greatest sporting showcase by elitists who don’t give a toss (of a coin?) for the ordinary man and woman in the street who fill the coffers of the great and the good at Safa week in and week out? Just because some Spanish player (Xabi Alonso) whinged at the Confed Cup that a stadiumful of vuvuzelas wasn’t very tuneful to his European ears?

It makes me violently ill. So it’s OK for the workers to build the new stadia for R2,400 a month (before they protested for an increase last month) but it’s not cool for them to rock up at those self-same stadia (if they can afford a ticket) to “paaarp” on Bafana Bafana at the World Cup finals? Unless it’s with an First National Bank-sponsored “kuduzela”. “How can we help you?” More like “How can we shut you up?”

SA soccer legend Lucas 'Roo' Radebe has been roped in by FNB to promote the lightweight 'kuduzela'. Eish!

What next? The banning of those brilliant outsized sunglasses that Kaizer Chiefs and Orlando Pirates (and South Africa) supporters wear with such feverish abandon? The doing-away with those outrageous home-made, um, headworn billboards that are worn on miners’ helmets or hardhats? Who can forget the mindboggling sight of that soccer fan who wore a gutted fish over his head? Too much of awesomeness! But “Fifa” security suits are going to say to him: “Sorry, Sir, you can’t bring that fish in here. Please eat it now or throw it into that bin with the vuvuzelas and other offensive items.”

Eish. Welcome to Fifa’s sanitised version of South African soccer. Made more palatable for a worldwide televised audience. South African soccer Blatterised. The best opportunity ever to show the world the unique flavour and unbridled joy of our truly, madly, deeply passionate fans well and truly lost.

Allow me to briefly interrupt this protest to bring you a televisual presentation of our beloved vuvu…

Nice. Better than the Scottish bagpipes, hey? Thanks to SuperSport, Matty Morgan and YouTube for that.

“SA-positive” people simply cannot allow their ears to witness the death-rattle of the vuvuzela. Danny Jordaan of the 2010 LOC (Local Organising Committee) and sponsors FNB, and all the other “stakeholders” (how I detest that word!) cashing in on the unique celebration of OUR beautiful game, must be made to see the consquences of their submissiveness to Fifa. And be made to look down the barrel of our collective vuvuzela. Viva Bafana, Viva Vuvu! Paaaaarp!

It’s not often I say PE (Port Elizabeth, South Africa for my Kazakhstan readers) is the place to be. It is tomorrow. But perhaps not for the elitists who want to take over our 2010 World Cup with their poncy “kuduzelas” (designed to appease non-Africans such as Fifa head honcho Sepp Blatter, who is fretting that 60,000 vuvuzelas in a stadium might give our wussy World Cup visitors a migraine).

But, according to The Sowetan, South Africa’s traditional vuvuzela (the People’s choice of weapon to cheer on our heroes) is fighting back. A loud paaaarp goes out to Vodacom which will hand out 20,000 free vuvus before the Chiefs v Pirates game at the Nelson Mandela Bay Stadium tomorrow night. Vuvucom is hoping to spur the crowd on to creating a new Guinness Book of Records’ mark with 30 volunteers urging the crowd to create a vuvu crescendo for 30 seconds before kick-off.

Nice one. Truly South African. I don’t suppose Sepp “He Who Must Be Obeyed” Blatter will be champagning it up in the VIP box for this one.